In Which Adela Becomes Twenty Sickles Richer
Author Note: Nothing much to say – enjoy! Thanks to everyone for reading!
Disclaimer: Only OCs belong to me
Whap.
I grinned, feeling the familiar numbing sensation as the vibration traveled through ol' Bessie to my arm (at a rate of about 32 miles per hour, in case you were wondering).
The bludger sailed away, the dark leather blurring as it sped towards the target.
Ding.
The target – a pale yellow object roughly cut in the shape of a human body – flung backwards, spinning downwards as the spell holding it in place was broken.
My smile broadened; perfect hit.
"Not bad, Lancaster!"
I looked towards the source of the sound; Nico grinned back at me, twin dimples appearing on either side of his freckled cheeks. I rolled my eyes before sticking my tongue out at him; what? I'm nothing if not dignified! Oh, shut it.
He leaned forward, his dirty blonde hair barely grazing the top of his broomstick (a rather nice Cleansweep model) before zooming forwards. He quickly turned so that the tail of his broomstick faced forwards, jerking the handle downwards and hitting the target with the end of his broom.
The target flew upwards, its thin shape spinning end-to-end as it slowly began to make its descent.
"Try and hit that!" he called, cupping his hands over his mouth.
"Ten sickles says she can't!" came a loud shout from my left.
I spared a quick second to glare at the speaker – a rather rowdy Chaser named…well, that wasn't very important. Oh, alright. So I didn't know his name – so what? At least I knew that he was a Seventh Year! That should count for something! – before adjusting my grip on ol' Bessie.
My eyes narrowed, watching the target's trajectory as it slowly trailed downwards; it was going quite slowly – the 9.8 m/s2 force of gravity must have been hindered by the force of the wind drafts currently blowing all over the Quidditch Pitch.
But anyway. My ears pricked as I heard the familiar faint whistling of a bludger as it speeds its way towards your gut (they always aim for the gut. Or the head. Whichever seems to be the most painful).
Keeping my eyes on the target, I slowly brought my arm back.
Wait for it…wait…wait…
There.
My arm whipped forward, connecting with the leather ball. The bludger spun, quickly shifting paths as ol' Bessie slammed into it.
Come on…come on…
I watched anxiously as the bludger made its way towards the target at an excruciatingly slow pace, my hands clenching and unclenching its grip on my broom.
Clip.
The bludger barely touched the target, the very left side of it just managing to scrape against the side of the still-falling target. Bugger.
The target tottered before falling at an only slightly changed trajectory.
I groaned; I'd miscalculated my aim!
"Woo! Twenty sickles richer!"
I was going to kill that boy. Or at least set Sir Archibald on him.
…Sir Archibald had been pretty moody (probably because Rose had insisted on feeding him some "organic" food. She should know better; Sir Archibald refuses to eat anything other than left over shepherd's pie and owl pellets) lately; it would do him good to let out some of his anger.
Maybe he'd even scratch me less!
Ah…a life without painful claws to wake you up.
Wait a second. He'd bet that I couldn't hit the target. I had! I quickly shifted forward, carefully balancing my knees as I looked down at the dark green ground below.
Huh. Hundreds of damp-looking yellow leaves dotted the ground, piling up in small mounds in some areas. Was it fall already? WHY DID SUMMER LEAVE SO QUICKL-
Right. Focus.
I scanned the general area (about a 3 foot x 3 foot area) where the target should have landed (judging by its trajectory). There! It was about 1.2 feet away from its original landing spot; proof that my bludger had hit it!
I grinned and shifted my gaze back upwards, darting forward to catch up with Nico.
"Wrong, my little boy!"
Nico grunted, his eyes still trained on the various bludgers now darting around the Pitch.
Hehe. He hates to be reminded of his younger (and thus obviously inferior!) status. That's right – respect your elders!
"The bludger landed 14 inches away from its expected destination; my bludger clipped it!" I said jovially, reaching over to ruffle his hair (he absolutely hates when I do that…which makes it all the more fun!)
He scowled, swiping at my hand and turning to face me.
"Adela, you are the most infu-"
I automatically began tuning him out. Wow, it certainly was chilly today. Maybe I should start wearing sweaters. Although I've always said that sweaters are for pansies.
Hehe. Pansies.
OH MY LORD A BLUDGER.
"Watch it!" I bellowed, shoving Nico out of the way. He yelped in surprise, dipping a few feet (around 4.7 feet, in case you were wondering. Which I'm sure you were) before regaining his balance.
Crack.
The bludger soared off towards the middle goal post at the other end of the Quidditch Pitch. My hand tingled, sharp prickling sensations darting up the length of my arm before gathering at my shoulder. I winced, experimentally shifting it up and down. It had been five weeks and three days since the plant had spat its poison at me (totally not my fault! Oh, stop looking at me like that. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE BLOODY PLANT WAS GOING TO UP AND VOMIT ON ME?), but my arm still ached at times of strenuous exercise.
I suppose that whacking heavy twenty-pound balls that hurtle towards you at ungodly speeds counts as strenuous exercise.
Right, that was going to hurt tomorrow.
I glanced westward; the sun was dipping below the hills in the distance, smearing the sky with blood red and orange hues. A few low-hanging clouds drifted slowly, their normally white bodies stained to warm shades as the sun sank. Judging by the sun's position, it was probably around 5:30 PM or so. Which meant another hour until practice was finished…that is, if Wood didn't find any other "horrendous" mistakes to perfect (yesterday he claimed that the Chaser dude – yes, that's what I'll refer to him as from now on. Numberita agrees – was tilting his body "3.4 inches too far to the right" when he was about to shoot at the goal posts, so he had us all do "core strengthening" exercises until bloody eleven o'clock. WHICH MEANT I'D MISSED DINNER. AND IT WAS SHEPHERD'S PIE. WHICH ALSO MEANT THAT I WAS UNHAPPY. UNHAPPY ADELA LEADS TO VIOLENCE).
"Right, team! Huddle up!" came Wood's (painfully) loud voice. I muffled my groan (the last time Wood caught me complaining was also the time he made me run ten. Bloody. Laps. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT IS? DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH PAIN/SUFFERING/VOMIT-INDUCING EXERCISE THAT WAS? YEAH, DIDN'T THINK SO) and slowly drifted downwards, my broom making lazy spins as I tried to prolong the journey for as long as possible.
Gah! My broom dipped suddenly, shooting forward as the tail got caught in a particularly strong gust of wind. I scowled; stupid broom. I'd had the same Nimbus 2300 since I was eight (Father had given it to me for my eighth birthday, promising that I could get a newer model when I turned twelve. Of course, that was before the whole "OH MY LAHD YOU GOT SORTED INTO BLOODY RAVENCLAW? YOU ARE NOW FILTH. BEGONE FOUL BEAST!" ordeal. Okay, so maybe he didn't say it exactly like that. But hey, I have artistic license!), and over the years it had become more and more unreliable.
Wood was always on my case about getting a new broom (he never understood that just because I came from a wealthy family, it didn't mean that I had any access to those funds. The only things of any value that I owned were given to me before the whole Sorting. And I was saving those to sell for university or something…I wasn't completely sure what Numberita wanted to do-anyway, off topic. Point=Adela does not have a good broom. In case you were wondering what to get me for my birthday – which is in January! – or something. Cough. Cough. Hint). He always said that if I had a better broom, I could help the Ravenclaw team win the Cup and get it out of the clutches of those "bloody Slytherins/Gryffindors" (depending on which House currently had the Cup). Slytherins had won the Cup last year, so Wood went around shooting daggers at any Slytherin he saw. Actually, it was quite amusing. I think he made some poor First Year pee his pants once. Although I think the next day the First Year, being the Slytherin he was, went and put a few poisonous spiders in Wood's bed.
Anyway.
I'd asked him why he couldn't just lend me a broom, seeing as his father was the bloody coach of the Hollyhead Harpies. He'd spluttered a bit before storming off, looking a bit like he was a deranged psychopath. Looking back, I suppose that was a bit insensitive; I knew that Wood and his father were certainly not on the best of terms.
"ADELA NICOLE LANCASTER! GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"
Bugger.
I quickly shot forward the remaining 10.3 feet left to the ground, jerking the handle upwards before I could slam face-first into the damp, leaf-strewn soil.
"Your middle name's Nicole?" asked one of the Scamander twins (I could never tell them apart), his pale green/yellow eyes widening a bit.
"Obviously," I snapped. He smiled dreamily before gazing off in the distance, his pale face devoid of any negative emotion. Right, he was a nutter.
Slam. Oh, just bloody fantastic. My broom had bloody gone and dumped me on the ground. I huffed, trying to get up with as much dignity as possible.
Well, I think I'm doing pretty well, given the circumstances. I flipped my ponytail behind me shoulder, lifting my nose up slightly.
"You've got grass bits on your arse."
Well then. I shot a quick glare at the commentator (it was the other Scamander twin, the one with the grey eyes). He shrugged, studying me closely with just a hint of disdain.
He was a fourth year! HE HAD NO RIGHT TO BE JUDGING ME.
"OI! RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!" I bellowed, stabbing my finger at his general direction.
He shrugged again, smirking a bit before turning his attention towards Wood (who was positively quivering by this point with barely-suppressed impatience. Merlin, someone needs an oatmeal raisin cookie).
Weren't the Scamander twins supposed to be nutters, anyway? Why on earth was this one so…well, sane?
It was odd. Numberita didn't like it.
"AHEM."
Right. Angry Quidditch Captain=getting annoyed.
I turned towards Wood, smiling sweetly. He narrowed his eyes a bit before clearing his throat and continuing, "Right, now that I've finally gotten the attention of some people-" Here he shot me a (quite unnecessary, if you ask me) pointed glare "-I'd like to talk about our match against Gryffindor tomorrow."
HOLY HIPPOGRIFFS IT WAS TOMORROW? I HADN'T EVEN BEGUN MY PRE-MATCH RITUALS OR EVEN PURCHASED THE NECESSARY 17 POUNDS OF SUGAR QUI-oh, stop with the judgment! It completely works!
"Now, not to put pressure – but we absolutely need to win this!" he insisted, shaking his fist for emphasis (looking eerily like one of those old Muggles you see shaking their canes at random passerby). Merlin. Did that just happen? Yeah, he was still shaking that fist.
Wood needs to get a life.
"We are definitely capable of beating them – they lost to Slytherin during the finals last year and we beat them last year-" Cheer, cheer, woo. I tell you, it's the sugar quills that did it! "-But we can't get too cocky," Wood cut off the cheers, making sure to meet everyone's eyes in turn. We quieted, silent determination replacing smug cheers.
I had to hand it to him; Wood made a great Captain.
"I've been watching their practices and trying to glean as much information as I can; remember how their Beater used to always jump a bit whenever the announcer called out his name?"
We all nodded; it had been right useful at times. The Beater – some poor Third Year who had been new to the team last year – had hesitated before hitting the bludger that would have prevented Grey Eyes from scoring the winning goal (after winning those ten points, it ensured that when our Seeker caught the Snitch it would not be a tie). "Well, he's been training; he no longer hesitates at all. I've been watching the Ke-Keeper as well. She's improved," he added grudgingly, his voice catching a bit at the word "Keeper."
I eyed him, Numberita whirring; interesting development there. Did little Woody have a widdle crushy-wushy on-right, I'm sleep deprived.
Don't judge.
"-o we just need to keep working hard! I believe in all of you," Wood finished, shoving his gloved hand into the general middle (he was about 3.8 inches too far to the right, actually) of our huddle.
We all added our hands, each one piling on top of the previous hand.
"ONE. TWO. THREE."
"RAVENCLAW!" we bellowed, the shout echoing across the empty Quidditch pitch.
Right, we rock.
GRYFFINDORS ARE GOING DOWN.
The team gradually dispersed as the various genders headed to their respective locker rooms (actually, there are only two girls on this whole bloody team. Including me. DOES THAT SCREAM SEXISM OR WHAT?), chatting about the dinner they were about to devour.
I turned, moving to follow the crowd when a hand grasped my upper arm.
"Adela, wait," Wood said, his voice hushed.
Not again. Ever since I'd missed the first practice, Wood had been really tough on me. As in, he's been keeping me after practice every. Single. Bloody. Time. He keeps babbling on about "covert missions" and "you need to fix your form!"
I usually just ignore him.
"Potter was absent from the Gryffindor practice yesterday. Find out why, will you?"
Huh? Why would Potter be at the Gryffind-oh. Numberita caught up; Wood was referring to James.
James. A small smile spread across my face; ever since he gave me back my quills, I've looked at him with a different light. Do you know how bloody long I've been waiting to find a decent bloke? We'd talked a few times after that, but it was strictly as friends. Unfortunately, my newfound affection for him left me…slightly speech impaired. As in, I burbled like a nutter about "OH LOOK AT THAT SQUIRREL HOW NICE" and "WOW YOUR FAMILY IS SO BIG. I TOLD YOU THEY DON'T USE PROTECTION!"
Wait. Why would Wood ask me to spy on James? Was I that obvious? The acrid taste of panic rose in my throat, threatening to force me to gag.
"Erm…why me?"
Wood rolled his eyes, huffing impatiently.
Well. Someone's feeling extra sassy today.
"Because, Adela Nicole Lancaster-" Okay, that boy needs to stop with the full name business. If he didn't, I knew of a certain cat who would be more than happy to use him as target practice. "-you know him the best out of everyone on this team…which reminds me. WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT FRATERNIZING WITH THE ENEMY?"
He bellowed that last bit, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.
Right. One second he's saying I should spy on James, the next he says I'm bloody fraternizing with the enemy? And he says I'm the nutter?
Merlin.
And what about Rose? She was his bloody cousin!
Right, you don't know yet; I'd forgotten. Our Seeker graduated last year, so we were in desperate need of a new one. I thought Wood was going bloody insane; he'd accost random Ravenclaws in the hopes of finding a decent Seeker. Rose finally volunteered to try out when she found Wood leaving notes in the First Years' dorms about "magical candy" that "all Seekers would get if they help the Ravenclaw Quidditch team wins!"
I had to agree with Rose on this one; magical candy? Really? Anyway, Rose turned out to be a fantastic Seeker (who knew?) and was admitted to the team on the spot.
"She'd never agree," Wood said, flapping his hand dismissively and shaking his head.
And I would?
Catching my expression and the way I was gripping ol' Bessie, Wood changed tactics hurriedly. He grasped my arms, bending down (alright, so I'm not the tallest of people. Sod off!) to look me in the eyes.
"Please, Adela? For Ravenclaw?" he whined, pouting a bit.
What seventeen-year-old boy pouts, for Merlin's sake?
I rolled my eyes, shoving his hands off of me.
"Fine."
AN: Thanks for reading! Please review =D
